


Couverture

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 20:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13911885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Beverly and Deanna have a great time planet-side. Worf does not understand.





	Couverture

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The gardens of Mrennenimus Prime are every bit as wondrous as the locals claimed, lush and ripe and utterly unique, more than _gorgeous_. Better still is the standing policy that visitors may sample whatever they like. Though there’s little medical knowledge to be gained from the exotic bouquets, Beverly still finds herself plucking flower petals here and there. The genetic makeup of each new species is always as intriguing as the last. They all carry different but lovely aromas. Many are silk-soft beneath her fingers, others velvety, still others like barely solid liquid. Beverly picks a crimson blossom that looks very similar to a Terran rose, and she enjoys a lengthy inhale before it joins the growing collection in her pockets. It was wise to wear her doctor’s coat on the way down—the usual Starfleet uniform simply wasn’t built to house so many delightful gifts.

As she makes her way, unaccompanied, back towards the central annex of the sprawling gardens, she spots Worf storming up the cobblestone path. He’s impossible to miss, and not just because he’s conspicuously large and lumbers like the proverbial bull in an old-fashioned china shop, but also because of his soured expression. Beverly’s sure she’s worn a blissful look of peace ever since she stepped out of the shuttle. The rest of the landing party—Worf excluded—seemed similarly enchanted, and as far as she knows, they’re all still exploring the many different facets of the palace’s enormous grounds. Their native hosts, equally tranquil, were quite happy to let them all explore.

Worf, evidently, is done his exploration. He grunts, “Doctor,” as he nears her, then bluntly asks, “Are you ready to return to the ship?”

Beverly blinks and asks, notably disappointed, “Has the landing party been recalled?”

“No,” Worf grunts, “but the sooner we reconvene on the Enterprise, the sooner we can discuss Mrennenimus’ entrance to the Federation.” It sounds perfectly reasonable, but Beverly doesn’t have to be a half-Betazoid counselor to pick up on his undertones. 

“You don’t seem like you want them to be accepted.” 

If possible, Worf’s nose wrinkles even deeper. He turns back towards the entrance to this particularly stretch of the gardens, and Beverly falls into step, though it seems a shame to leave behind the lush flora all around her. Still, there are other parts of the gardens she’d also like a chance to explore—she’s left room in her pockets for just that occasion. As they walk, Worf explains, “They are too... pleasant.” And he doesn’t have to elaborate, because Beverly can guess the rest: too pliant, too languid, too _soft._ Wholly un-Klingon. It almost makes her chuckle, but she restrains herself—after all, Worf is entitled to his, albeit unconventional, opinions. 

When they reach the central annex, they find the wide, paved circle surrounding a towering water fountain to be empty. But Beverly can hear the soft murmurs of the Mrennenimian language not far off, and she’s not surprised that the rest of their landing party isn’t yet finished. There are a dozen branching paths, each leading off through wrought-iron archways, to different themed sections. She chose the organic one without much trouble, but she’d also like to visit the garden made purely of synthetic fabric, and perhaps one of the edible paths—the fruit laden one looks particularly appetizing. But she isn’t at all surprised when she sees Deanna Troi emerging from the chocolate garden.

Worf and Beverly slow to a stop, and Deanna, when she spots them, heads right over. Beverly doesn’t need her medical tricorder to know how Deanna’s doing: she’s practically glowing, with an extra bounce in her swaying step and a faint mist about her eyes. Her smile is infectious as she reaches them. But Worf barks immediately, “Counselor, what’s wrong? What have they done to you?”

Deanna blinks up at him, then lets out a light, lilting laugh that Beverly wants to join. “Nothing’s wrong, Worf.”

“You’ve clearly been crying. When I find the _petaQ_ who offended you—”

“Worf,” Deanna chides, now laughing enough to jar a single tear out of her left eye, and she has to pause to wipe it carefully away. Beverly can see perfectly well that the only thing hidden in Deanna’s dark eyes is pure _happiness_. It’s about what Beverly expected when she learned that they would be visiting the greatest display of chocolate art in the known universe. “I’m just emotional because I’ve never seen anything so... so beautiful! And absolutely _delicious_! An entire exhibit made of every kind of chocolate I could conceive of, and several that I couldn’t... it’s just too much! And they’re sculpted in such a perfect away that I almost feel guilty for eating them!”

“I know what you mean,” Beverly sighs, because she had felt guilty plucking that first petal—but the Mrennenimian queen had practically insisted, and Beverly couldn’t resist the pretty keepsake. 

But Worf, sporting no souvenirs that Beverly can see, squints and turns to Beverly, suggesting slowly, “Perhaps there is some kind of drug in their chocolate, mean to endear us to them.”

Deanna chuckles and shakes her head. Beverly indulges Worf in a quick faux-examination, making a show of eyeing Deanna from head to foot, even peering into her ears. Then Beverly announces, “She looks perfectly healthy to me, besides, perhaps, a slight sugar rush.”

“She is _crying_.”

“Humans will do that when they think they’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Having been raised by humans, Worf must know the expression, but he looks at her as though he doesn’t. He switches tactics to harrumph, “As security officer, I think it would be advisable for us to all return to the ship.”

“You’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming,” Deanna informs him, before reaching out to take Beverly’s hand. To Beverly, she insists, “You have to come see the hazelnut willow tree, or at least what looks and tastes like one. It might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted!”

Unable to resist Deanna’s exuberance and the promise of high-quality chocolate, Beverly chirps, “Don’t mind if I do.”

And she offers Worf a parting smile as she and Deanna disappear into the garden of Deanna’s dreams.


End file.
